


The Kindest Use A Knife

by the_alchemist



Category: The Borgias
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_alchemist/pseuds/the_alchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Micheletto receives bad news from Forli, Cesare is able to repay some of the loyalty he's been shown. But their detective work unravels secrets from the past with the power to shock even a man who thinks he has seen every kind of darkness the world has to offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perdiccas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/gifts).



> Huge thanks to beta readers R, S and K, all of whom made time to give me beautifully comprehensive and helpful feedback despite illness, mind-bogglingly busy schedules and in one case unfamiliarity with canon.
> 
> I've ticked 'graphic depictions of violence' to be on the safe side, but there's only one and it's relatively mild. I should also warn for a semi-graphic depiction of childbirth, plus some in-character misogyny and fatphobia.

"What do you mean he won't come?"

"My lady-"

She wheeled round to face him, and the steward lowered his eyes. "Does he think I intend to stab him in his sleep?"

"Lady Caterina-"

"Well yes, I _do_ intend to stab him in his sleep, but that's not the point. It's ... indelicate. Impolite."

"Madam, he's a Borgia."

"Too true." She smiled, regaining her composure, and her steward sagged with relief before quickly standing to attention again. "Well," she continued. "We'll just have to lure him here instead, won't we?"

"Madam."

"That man of his. The one who never leaves him." She gestured vaguely around her cheekbones. "The one with the ... face. He's a local boy, is he not?"

"Yes, Madam. Micheletto Corella. He was brought up in Forli – a farmer's son."

"And does he have friends here? Family? Someone we could use to bring him here?"

"Him? Corella, you mean, or Borgia himself?"

"Either. Both. Corella first and then Borgia. Bait to catch our bait, as it were."

"His Mama still lives here, Madam. And there's someone else too. A lover. A sort of childhood sweetheart."

"Some peasant girl?"

The steward coughed delicately. "A man," he said. "Augustino ... something. A wheelwright, I believe."

Caterina snorted with laughter. "Shocking," she drawled.


	2. Chapter 2

> ... and Father Angelo, who is writing this for me, will depart for Florence before Christmas and we will have a new priest instead. Keep them both in your prayers, Micheletto, and the rest of us too.
> 
> Before I leave off, my dear son, there is one piece of sad news I must tell you. You remember Augustino, of course? Not six weeks after he married poor Violetta, they found him hanged in the granary - the big one that used to be a stable, not the one out front - do you remember? The one where they found the litter of kittens the summer before you left us. It's a terrible thing and of course all Forli is full of disrespectful gossip about whether he done himself in or whether it was someone else and other things too about his life, but I say folks should mind their own business and anyway, they buried him at the edge of the graveyard which I suppose does as a kind of each way bet.
> 
> The worst thing is he was still alive when they took him down, but our doctors here are no good, not like they are in Rome. Anyway, Violetta is a rich widow now, as she has all that was his and is her father's heiress too, so I suppose she'll be looking to marry again in a year or so, and all the local boys will be after her. Stay safe, my dear son, and come and visit us soon.
> 
> Your ever loving Mama
> 
> Isabella Corella

 

Micheletto let the letter drop to the opulent carpet in Cesare's quarters..

"What is it?" Cesare looked up from his book. Micheletto's hand was shaking.

Micheletto turned to him. "Nothing," he said. "Some bad news, that's all. A childhood friend."

"Sick?"

"Dead."

"I'm sorry."

Micheletto paused for a moment. Then: "I need to go back to Forli. To know what happened."

"How do you mean, 'what happened'?" asked Cesare.

"Mama said they found him hanged. They don't know if it was murder or suicide, but I need to know." At last he gained mastery of his shaking voice. "And I need vengeance too, against whoever did it or drove him to it."

"I'll come with you," said Cesare at once.

"Why?" Micheletto's voice was sharp and almost suspicious.

"You help me kill my enemies," said Cesare, "I help you kill yours."

"You are my master and I am your servant."

"We are friends too, I hope."

Micheletto studied Cesare's face, then slowly nodded. "Thank you," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

The messenger came to Isabella Corella just as she was finishing dictating the letter to her son. She made him wait, standing by the door.

She was sitting at her cosy kitchen table, surrounded by the goods she'd laid in for the winter: dried fruit and nuts, cured meat, full jars of herbs and spices. Opposite her sat the Dominican Father Angelo, middle-aged and a little portly, taking down her words as she spoke them: a service he performed for half his flock.

"Thank you, Father," she said to him, handing over the pot of bean stew that was the payment for his labours.

He bowed his head and made the sign of the cross. "Bless you, my daughter," he said. "What does her ladyship want with you?"

Isabella smiled. "A recipe, I suppose," she said, swelling a little with pride. "Even Caterina Sforza knows I'm the best cook in all Forli."

Father Angelo smiled and tapped the pot of stew. "Then tonight I shall dine like the nobility," he said. "I will miss this once I'm in Florence."

"Can you really not stay until Christmas?" asked Isabella. They were a week into Advent already.

"I'm afraid not. It's a great honour to be called to Florence. You have perhaps heard of one of our order called Girolamo Savonarola, who was martyred lately in Rome? It is to his own house I have been called."

 

Isabella was not surprised to have been called to the Lady of Forli. It happened once or twice a year, and more frequently of late. She hurried back home to fetch the things she needed, then accompanied the messenger up to the castle.

Caterina received her not in the solar, as was her custom, but in a lower part of the castle: a modest but comfortable room with a bed, a washstand and other simple furniture. That of a middle-ranking servingwoman, perhaps, except that there were bars on the windows and the door was unusually thick.

"My lady." Isabella made a deep curtsy. "How am I honoured to help you today? What do you need of me?"

"Your son," said Caterina, shortly.

Isabella quickly arose from the curtsy and blinked. "I beg pardon, madam?"

"Your son Micheletto," said Caterina. "Cesare Borgia's creature."

"Micheletto's to be a doctor," said Isabella. "He doesn't know any Borgias. He keeps away from their kind. I've kept him well away from politics, from danger, from anything ... anyone like ..." Like you or me.

"You don't _know_?" said Caterina. Then she laughed out loud. "Like mother like son, I suppose. Oh well, it's no concern of mine."

Isabella stared. No. She didn't believe it. She had met Micheletto's Dottore herself: a nice, well brought up young man. _He_ wouldn't allow Micheletto to go round mixing with Borgias or any nonsense like that.

Meanwhile, Caterina spoke on. "... I need you to write to him and tell him I'm keeping you here and he has to come and bail you out. Don't look so worried, I'm not going to hurt him. Quite the opposite in fact. He's in danger in Rome, mixed up in things he shouldn't be. I'm going to bring him safely home to his Mama."

Isabella started to frown as she watched Caterina beckon over two guards.

"I need this woman locked up," Caterina said. "Not in the dungeons, just here. Treat her well, but don't let her escape. Oh, and don't accept any food from her." Isabella felt Caterina's hand on her shoulder. "Isabel Corella is one of the most accomplished poisoners in all Italy."


	4. Chapter 4

 

They rode through the night and all the next day too, not because they had to, but because Cesare could see that Micheletto was too restless and unhappy to sleep. By the time they stopped, they had covered almost a third of the distance between Rome and Forli. The weather was fine, so they camped in the woods rather than taking rooms at an inn.

Cesare unsaddled and fed the horses. It was good to be sleeping out in the open again. Life in Rome had been quiet for weeks, and he had grown bored. Empathy for Micheletto's sorrow marred the pleasure of the journey of course, but at the same time Cesare was fascinated to see a glimpse of the man's life before and beyond Rome.

He had been surprised last year to discover Micheletto had a mother. A thing like that shouldn't have come from the softness of a woman's womb, but should have sprung to life fully grown and fully armed, like Athena. There was something inhuman even about his fierce loyalty, the strength of which could humble even Cesare Borgia's pride.

"Who was Augustino?," said Cesare, coming to sit by the fire Micheletto had made.

Micheletto looked up sharply. "My friend, your Grace," he said. "A wheelwright. His throat sounded tight, his tone defensive.

"A wheelwright?" Cesare said.

"Yes," said Micheletto, rummaging in one of the bags for food. "Shall we eat the meat cold, or shall I make a stew?"

"I don't mind," said Cesare. "Was Augustino married?"

"Yes," said Micheletto, handing Cesare some bread and roast beef. "Not long ago, to a fat girl with a lazy eye."

"A fat _widow_ with a lazy eye now."

Micheletto snorted. "My mother wants me to marry her," he said. "She's the heiress to the biggest bakery in Forli, and now she has Augustino's house and  business too."

"The biggest bakery in all Forli," said Cesare, smiling. "Impressive." They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then: "do you think _she_ killed him?" asked Cesare. "For the money?"

"Perhaps," said Micheletto. "Or perhaps it was her cousins. They were always protective of her, more like brothers than ordinary cousins, and they never liked Augustino."

"Well," said Cesare. "Maybe you _should_ marry her. You'd never be short of bread. Or wheels."

"I don't think I'm cut out for marriage, your Grace" said Micheletto. "Shall I set some snares so we can have pigeon for breakfast?"

"If you like," said Cesare. But he put his hand on Micheletto's shoulder, preventing him from getting up. "I'm sorry," he said, "for speaking like this about your friend. For joking, I mean. I'm just not used to ... I mean–"

"Don't worry about it," said Micheletto.

Cesare tried hard to read Micheletto's face, but it gave nothing away. "Was he your lover?" he asked.

Micheletto blinked. Then: "yes," he said. "Does that shock you?"

Cesare chuckled, deep in his throat. "I'm a Borgia," he said. "Compared to what half my relatives get up to, men fucking each other is normal."

Micheletto twitched a half smile. "You should sleep," he said. "I'm going to set those snares. Don't wait for me."

"Are you all right?" said Cesare.

"Of course I'm not all right," said Micheletto. "But I shan't let anything bad happen to me until I've got those bastards who killed my Augustino. Now, sleep. Please." He got up and went.

Cesare pulled his cloak over himself and lay down by the fire, watching the dancing flames until his eyes closed themselves, exhaustion took him and he slept.

Footsteps. At once Cesare was wide awake again, and feeling for his knife, though he didn't sit up. The fire had burnt low, but he could see the intruder by the glow of its embers. No. Not an intruder, only Micheletto. Cesare relaxed. But it must have been hours. Poor Micheletto.

Cesare watched through almost closed eyes as Micheletto crouched the other side of the fire, rubbing his hands and staring into the flames, then lay down, without bothering to cover himself. He was crying. It was very quiet, but he was definitely crying. His eyes were filling with tears which fell down onto the forest floor. Many minutes passed, as Cesare continued to watch, listening to the sound of insects, an owl, the horses shifting their weight. Micheletto made no sound at all.

"You're awake," said Micheletto at last. "I can see you watching me." His tone betrayed no emotion: not anger, not embarrassment, not even sorrow. Something beyond sorrow, perhaps.

Cesare sat up and crawled round to the same side of the fire as Micheletto. Micheletto didn't move, so Cesare lay down behind him, pulled his cloak over both of them, and then folded his arm around Micheletto's body. He felt Micheletto relax a little against him, and shifted his own weight to get more comfortable.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Cesare woke, Micheletto had already remade the fire and was roasting two fat pigeons.

"Smells good," said Cesare.

Micheletto nodded and their eyes met for a moment before both turned away. Cesare wondered whether he would have done better to have feigned sleep.

"We should get moving as soon as we've eaten," said Micheletto.

"Of course," said Cesare.

            They rode all day and into the night. Micheletto was in front, staring straight ahead, not speaking. How had it been, Micheletto and this man Augustino? What had they done together? And what was he like? Handsome? A wheelwright, Micheletto had said. A working man, with a working man's strong hands. But he was dead now, and rotting at the edge of the graveyard.

That night, Cesare lay down to sleep first, and Micheletto did not lie by his side.

 

On the afternoon of the third day, they reached Forli.

"Shall we stay at my Mama's house?" said Micheletto.

"If she won't mind," replied Cesare.

"She won't."

When they got there, the house was empty, but the door unlocked.

"She's probably out shopping," said Micheletto. "Or gossiping. Sit down, your Grace. Make yourself at home."

But after an hour or so of waiting, she was still not back. Micheletto went to stand in the doorway. A small boy saw him and made a beeline for the house.

"Sir," he said, breathless with the running and with excitement. "You're her son, aren't you? Signora Isabella's, I mean? She got took to the castle! She got took almost a week ago and hasn't been seen since."

Cesare stood up. "What?" he said. "To Caterina Sforza's castle, you mean?"

The boy nodded. "Aye," he said.

"It's a trap," said Micheletto, shoulders tensing.

Cesare nodded grimly.

"Do I get anything?" said the small boy, holding out his hands.

"You'll get a clip round the ear if you're not careful," said Cesare. "Now go."

The boy's face fell, and he walked away. Cesare threw a few coins after him, which he picked up before scampering off.

"And Augustino ..." said Micheletto.

"A trap too," agreed Cesare. "She's trying to lure us here."

Micheletto brought his fist down hard on the worn tabletop. "He was a good man," he said. "And she killed him just to bring us here. And now Mama ..."

"Don't worry," said Cesare. "We'll get her back."

"That's what Caterina wants," said Micheletto.

 

There was a knock on the door. Micheletto opened it to a middle-aged Dominican with a salt-and-pepper beard and a pot belly. Micheletto's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He had many reasons to hate the Dominicans. "Yes?" he said.

"You are Micheletto?" the priest said. "Isabella's son?"

Micheletto inclined his head in agreement. "Who are you?" he said.

"My name is Father Angelo," the priest replied, "and I saw your mother yesterday. She told me to tell you she is well."

Micheletto didn't reply, so Cesare took over. "Then you know where she's being kept?" he said.

Fr Angelo nodded. "Yes," he said. "And if there's any way I can be of service to her and to you ..."

"You'd better come in," said Cesare.

 

"I don't trust him, your Grace," said Micheletto, as soon as Fr Angelo had left.

"Me neither," said Cesare. "But I think we can use him."

Fr Angelo had offered to help them get into the castle, dressed as Dominican friars. The rest of the plan was Cesare's idea: to set a fire elsewhere in the building, and rescue Isabella in the chaos that ensued.

"How 'use him'?" said Micheletto. "It's obviously a trap."

"We carry out the plan early," said Cesare. "And when we split up, I'll stay with Fr Angelo to set the fire. If he tries anything he's dead. It means you'll have to rescue your Mama on your own, of course–"

"That won't be a problem. But he'll go back now and tell them what we're planning, so even if it's early they'll understand and the guards will keep to their posts."

"We won't let him go back. Go after him now."

 

"You don't trust me," said Fr Angelo, as soon as Cesare explained the change of plan.

Cesare thought about prevaricating, but decided on a plain "no".

"Well," said Father Angelo. "That's fair enough. I hope that tonight I will give you reason to trust me. I know that my order and your family are not known for their mutual exchange of love, but I hope there may be exceptions."

"Why?" said Micheletto, toying with a knife. "Why do you want to help us?"

"Isabella is a good woman," said Fr Angelo. "She has been a good friend to me. I do not trust Caterina Sforza's intentions towards her."

 

            It was an hour's walk from Forli to the castle. The rough dark fabric of the Dominican habit chafed Cesare in more ways than one: he didn't like being back in the cassock so soon after putting it aside. They walked in silence, their hoods up, Fr Angelo leading, followed by Micheletto, with Cesare at the back.

The silence made Cesare uneasy. The more he thought about the plan, the more he worried it was foolish, and not only because of Father Angelo's potential for treachery. There were just too many things that might go wrong. What if the fire burned out of control? What if Isabella had been moved, or they couldn't get into her cell? He tried to banish such thoughts. A will of iron was all it took: uncertainty was the only danger. He had carried out worse thought-out plans than this before, and they had not failed. Nor would this.

Half an hour into the journey, when the castle was in sight, Cesare spied three figures coming towards them. It was hard to make them out in the twilight but he saw they were other Dominicans: a nun in a full face veil and two friars. His heart started to beat faster: who were they? Did they know Father Angelo? Would his two new companions raise their suspicions?

Cesare kept his head down, letting Fr Angelo speak for the three of them. He was a convincing liar, Cesare was relieved to note, explaining that Cesare and Micheletto were two friars from the priory he was to join in Florence. The nun seemed suspicious, however. She kept moving from side to side, as though trying to get a proper look at Micheletto's face. Then all at once she flung off her veil. "Micheletto!" she said. "It _is_ you!"

"Mama." Micheletto's voice betrayed more surprise than Cesare had ever heard from him before. "She released you?"

"I escaped," said Isabella. "You remember Mario and Giulio, right?" She pulled off the hoods of the two 'monks' who had been flanking her. "Maria's boys. Maria from the butcher's I mean, not Maria from the fishmonger's. The one who married your second cousin and you ate too many pies at the wedding and were sick in the fishpond?"

Cesare suppressed a smile.

"Well, I told you months ago they'd both got jobs at the castle, and it so happened that last night they were on guard duty, and they're good boys so they offered to help me. They're going to have to go to Giovanni's place out in the country for a few years, but that's all right because he needs a couple of new farmhands, and what with all his daughters growing up so fast – do you remember young Alicia, by the way? Well, she's become quite a beauty now. Anyway – oh, Fr Angelo. I beg pardon, Father, I didn't recognise you. And who is ... oh yes, I remember you. Micheletto's Dottore. And I suppose you're all here because you thought I'd need rescuing. Well, that's very kind I'm sure, but you shouldn't have put yourselves out. Have you had supper yet? I dread to think what state my larder's in, but I'm sure I can find something for you all ..."

 

That night, Cesare, Micheletto, Isabella and Father Angelo ate well. Maria's two boys had already been packed off to the country with bags of food for the journey. Afterwards, Isabella insisted that Cesare must have her bed: the only one in the house ("no, no – I sleep on the kitchen bench as often as not anyway: the heat is good for my joints, and the hardness helps my back. Lady Caterina's soft mattress has made me ache everywhere. I don't suppose you could give me something, could you Dottore?")

"So tell me about the time you were sick in the fishponds," grinned Cesare, as he stripped down to his shirt and got into bed

Micheletto didn't smile. "You have to excuse my mother," he said. "I know she talks too much."

"And you don't talk enough," said Cesare. "So. You ate too many pies?"

"I was ill," said Micheletto, laying down his cloak beside the bed.

"Don't you want to share with me?" asked Cesare, puzzled. They often shared a bed when travelling, and Micheletto had never before assumed his place was on the floor.

Micheletto hesitated. "I'll sleep wherever you tell me to, your Grace," he said.

"The bed, then," said Cesare.

Obediently, Micheletto hung up his cloak, took off his clothes and lay down beside Cesare.

"Why would you think otherwise?" said Cesare.

"I thought perhaps ... after I told you about Augustino ..." he trailed off.

"Don’t be silly,” said Cesare.


	6. Chapter 6

"He's here?" Caterina stopped pacing up and down and looked at the steward. "In the castle?"

"No, my Lady. But in Forli."

"Oh. Well that's something." She smoothed down her skirt. "What's he doing here? "

"His manservant's friend was found dead. They're here for revenge, apparently. They’re both pretending to be doctors, for some reason."

"Both? Cesare is in Forli to help his manservant avenge his lover?”

"So it seems."

"How devoted of him. Well, can you have him brought here?"

"We can try, my Lady. And there's another thing too. Rumours – more than rumours, I should say – that he is the one responsible for his brother's death."

But just as Caterina opened her mouth to reply, the door to her chamber opened, and Benito came in, bowing his head to receive her blessing.

"Did you hear that, my love?" said Caterina. "Cesare Borgia is here in Forli."

"Yes, mother."

Caterina took his mutilated right hand and kissed it. "Soon you will have your revenge."

Benito looked down. "That's what I came to ask you about, mother."


	7. Chapter 7

Their task for the next morning was to visit the bakery, ostensibly to pay their respects to the grieving Violetta, but actually to begin their investigations. Of course it _looked_ as though Caterina Sforza was to be their main suspect, but why did she choose to kill Augustino _and_ kidnap Isabella? Either one would have been enough to bring Micheletto to Forli, and doing both would make it too abundantly clear that was her purpose.

Violetta was holding court in the shop at the front of the bakery, dressed all in black, occasionally dabbing her eye with a fine white handkerchief. She was too fat to sit in an ordinary chair, so she had a specially wide one, with no arms.

"Thank you," she said, in response to their condolences. "I cannot tell you how much I miss him." She wiped away a tear. Because of her lazy eye, it was hard to tell which of them she was looking at. "He ... told me so much about you, Micheletto," she continued, and gave him a little half smile. "I know how much you meant to each other, how much you loved him and he loved you."

Micheletto grunted an acknowledgement, while Cesare studied her face, puzzled.

 

Back at Isabella's kitchen table, Micheletto shook his head. "It wasn't her," he said. "Too stupid. We should talk to her cousins next."

"I'm not so sure," replied Cesare. "She said she knew how much you meant to each other."

Micheletto gave a short laugh. "Just an unfortunate turn of phrase," he said. "The poor cow has no idea."

"I'm not so sure," said Cesare. "Did you see her face? She didn't quite wink, but she almost did."

"That's just her lazy eye," said Micheletto.

Isabella came back from shopping. "My boys!" she beamed, looking from one to the other. Cesare smiled at her. "It feels so good to have my table full again," she continued, laying out packages of meat, fish and vegetables on the table. "I hear you visited Violetta today. I popped into the bakery myself, and guess what? Violetta and her cousins are all coming to sup with us tonight."

 

Violetta's two cousins, Pietro and Marco, were as wide as her and much taller. They spoke little, ate much and drank more. Whenever Cesare smiled at Violetta, he felt their hostile gaze. Yes. These were men who would fight and perhaps even kill in defence of her honour. Cesare glanced at Micheletto and saw he had noticed it too.

Before midnight, however, the two cousins were snoring. "Oh dear," said Isabella. "Well, I supposed they can stay here for the night. Micheletto, will you see poor Violetta home?"

Micheletto glowered at his mother.

"I'll go," said Cesare quickly. "I could do with a walk."

"Dottore ..." began Violetta once they were on their way, then stopped

Cesare laughed. He was light-headed with the wine. "What?" he asked.

"Why did Micheletto come back to Forli?" she asked.

"Why do you think?" asked Cesare.

"I'm afraid to think," said Violetta.

"Why?" Cesare stopped and took Violetta's shoulders so they were facing one another. "Why would you be afraid?"

"He hates me," she said. "I can see it in his eyes. I know about him and Augustino. What they did, what they meant to each other. Augustino told me before we got betrothed, and I didn't mind. He loved both of us, Dottore – he had too much love just for one person, and I accepted that. But Micheletto ... he's so unhappy, Dottore, and he's dangerous too. I don't feel safe." There were tears in her eyes.

Cesare realised then that he found her beautiful: her smooth skin, high arched eyebrows, even (no, especially) her magnificent hips and bosom. Under other circumstances he might have bedded her. Micheletto was undoubtedly wrong about her intelligence, but was he also wrong about her guilt? They had reached the bakery.

"Violetta?" He caught her in his gaze.

"Yes, Dottore?"

"How did Augustino die? Who killed him? Did he kill himself?"

Her expression and whole demeanour changed. She drew back, obviously afraid. "I ... how should I know that?"

Cesare took a step forward.

"Don't hurt me!" she said. "My father's up there. If I scream he'll ... he sleeps with pistols under his pillow."

"And why should I want to hurt you?" Cesare's heart was beating fast now. She turned to run indoors, but Cesare caught her by the neckline of her bodice. "Tell me!" he said.

Suddenly he felt two hands round his neck. He wrenched them away and turned to see the two cousins. Marco swung a punch at him, but he was still staggering with drunkenness and it was easy for Cesare to avoid the blow. In a fraction of a second he assessed the situation. Yes, if he drew his dagger he could probably take them, at least in their current state, but there would be complications. Forli wasn't Rome, and he didn't know how he would cover a murder here. Better to run.

Forli wasn't Rome. It was dark and he didn't know the streets, expected proper paving through which nature had no room to assert herself in the form of exposed tree roots. He fell hard, and before he knew what had happened he felt a heavy boot in his stomach. He couldn't breathe. He thought he was going to be sick. But then the second blow came, this time in his face. Everything went dark for a moment, then there were bright lights, and then he remembered desperately trying to hold on to consciousness as it slid away from him.


	8. Chapter 8

Cesare woke up with the worst headache of his life. His body tried to groan, but it came out as a small painful rasping noise. His throat was dry. Where was he? He tried to open his eyes, but the left one wouldn't open at all and the right one would only open a crack.

"Your Grace?"

Micheletto was there. That was probably all right then. He tried to ask for water: the word didn't come out properly, but Micheletto seemed to understand. He helped Cesare sit up in bed, putting pillows behind his back, but the movement made Cesare feel sick. He retched, lurching forward, but nothing came out. Micheletto gently helped him sit against the pillows again.

Then Cesare felt a cup of water against his swollen lips. Swallowing was hard, but the water did help a little, and he began to think about things other than how much it hurt. Violetta's strange reaction when he asked her outright about Augustino's death was practically a confession. "Violetta–" he began, but his mouth was still too swollen to pronounce the word properly.

"It can wait," said Micheletto. "Drink more water."

After drinking again, Cesare explored the inside of his mouth with his tongue. Two or three of his teeth were missing, but no more. That was something to be thankful for, at least. He raised his arm, vaguely surprised that there was one part of his body that worked as normal, and touched his own face. His nose was broken, and everything was swollen. There was a particularly bad cut on his right cheek – there would be a scar. He would probably be less beautiful than before, but he wasn't sure that was a bad thing: he thought a more rugged look might be more his style. Not that it was particularly rugged to care about his looks. He swiftly shifted to thinking about something else.

He opened his eyes again. Yes, he was back in Isabella Corella's house, as he had thought. How had he got there? How much time had passed? It was frustrating not being able to ask questions. Micheletto was sitting very still by his bed, sometimes looking at him, sometimes out of the window. Cesare reached out and held his hand. Micheletto gave a quick half-smile. "Your Grace should sleep," he said. "I'll put cold cloths on your face again to bring the swelling down, but all you can really do is wait."

Cesare managed to lie down again by himself, and lay still while he felt the sting and soothing tingle of wet rags on his face. The gentleness of Micheletto's touch was surprising: he felt embarrassed as well as grateful.

'All you can really do is wait.' Until he had experienced it, Cesare wouldn't have believed that pain and boredom could coexist so readily. He thought sleep wouldn't come, but when it did, it took him quickly.

 

When Cesare woke up properly, he found he could open both of his eyes about half way. It was dark outside, and Micheletto was still there: Cesare awoke to find him adjusting the bedsheet so it covered his shoulders. The pain was worse, but the swelling better, and he found he could speak almost normally, although it hurt to do so. Micheletto drew back.

"What time is it?" asked Cesare. Then: "What _day_ is it?"

"Thursday. Friday, rather. Just after midnight," said Micheletto. "It's been two days."

Cesare looked at Micheletto suspiciously. He was very pale. "When did you last sleep?" he asked.

"I slept for an hour or so before I missed you and went to find you," he said.

"So you haven't slept properly for three days?"

"I don't need much sleep, your Grace."

"Get into bed," said Cesare. "That's an order." He moved aside to make room for him.

Micheletto took off his breeches and got in. Cesare moved closer so their arms were touching, side by side.

"What happened when you went to look for me?" asked Cesare.

"You were lying by the side of the road," said Micheletto. "Father Angelo had got there first. I thought you were dead. I thought he'd killed you, but I watched to be sure and he was trying to help you. Then he called around for help, and that's when I came out from the shadows."

"Violetta's cousins had gone?"

"Yes," said Micheletto. "It _was_ them, then? They said it wasn't."

"It's strange about Fr Angelo," said Cesare. "What was he doing out at that time of night? And if he called for help, does that mean he's not Caterina Sforza's creature? You'd think he'd either kill me for her, or bring me back to her quietly and alive.  Why would he call for help?"

"I don't know." Micheletto's eyelids were drooping.

"Sleep," said Cesare, remembering himself. "We can talk about this tomorrow."


	9. Chapter 9

Cesare woke up to a knock on the bedroom door. It was Isabella. "How are you feeling, Dottore?" she asked respectfully. "Are you up to visitors?"

Micheletto was awake and alert at once. "Visitors?" he said, sitting up. "Who?"

"Violetta has come to pay her respects," said Isabella. "She is so worried about you, Dottore. I told her my Micheletto was quite the hero and if it hadn't been for him, you might be dead. Isn't that so, Dottore? Do you think Micheletto did well enough to be a dottore himself now? Anyway, will she come up?"

Cesare and Micheletto looked at one another. "Can she wait for a few minutes?" said Cesare.

"I should put some clothes on," said Micheletto.

Isabella beamed. "Such a gentleman!" she said. "Yes, yes. You should put on your best doublet. I will tell Violetta to wait."

Once Isabella had gone, Cesare hurriedly explained what had happened between them, as Micheletto put on his clothes. "I asked her what had happened to Augustino," he said. "I expected her just to say she didn't know, but instead her jaw dropped and she blustered and ... I don't know, Micheletto. She certainly knows _something_ , but whether it was her or her cousins, or even Augustino himself ... Perhaps she's ashamed of him."

There was another knock on the door, and Micheletto let Violetta in, motioning her towards the only chair. Micheletto stood.

Violetta sat down heavily and looked from one to the other. "How are you feeling, Dottore?" she asked neutrally.

"I've been better," said Cesare. He had never been seriously sick or injured before. It felt wrong to receive a woman – other than a lover or close relative – lying in bed. It was an odd position to be in: both vulnerable and powerful, somehow.

"Why have you come here?" said Micheletto, standing in front of the door, his arms folded.

Violetta looked down at the floor, then back up between Cesare and Micheletto, blushing. "Several reasons," she said.

"Go on," said Micheletto.

She stood up and walked over to him. "Did you kill Augustino?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

Micheletto and Cesare exchanged a glance. "Of course not," said Micheletto. "Did _you_ kill him?"

"Me?!" Violetta laughed, then looked between them again. "Are you serious? Of course not." Then: "Oh! Is that what you were getting at the other night? I thought Micheletto killed him and you were trying to find out if I knew."

"Micheletto didn't kill him," said Cesare. "He was in Rome with me. Where were you when he was killed?"

"In our bed, asleep."

"Alone?" asked Cesare.

"Of course alone," said Violetta.

"Why wasn't he with you?" asked Micheletto. "Where did you think he was?"

"Working late?" said Violetta. "He often ... when there's a big job to finish ..." but she was blushing again.

"You're lying," said Micheletto.

Violetta hesitated. "I thought perhaps he was with you," she said. "Or that he'd found another man."

"And you didn't mind?" asked Cesare.

She shook her head. "No," she said. "I told you before. He loved me and I loved him. It would have been selfish and impossible to try to keep all that love to myself. I wouldn't have married him if I didn't mind sharing him. Another woman would have been different, perhaps, but you ... oh God. I want him back." She sat down again, and buried her face in her hands, crying.

Cesare reached out from the bed and touched her knee. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said quietly. Micheletto was facing away from them, looking out of the window.

"I should go," she said. "Sorry. I ... sorry. And sorry about Marco and Pietro too. They were only trying to protect me, but I should have stopped them, only I thought ... never mind. I'm just sorry, all right?" She stood up. "Goodbye, Micheletto; goodbye Dottore. If there's anything I can do, you know where I am."

She wiped the tears from her face and walked out.

 

Micheletto didn't move from the window.

"Well?" said Cesare, shifting his weight slightly, making some parts of his body hurt less, and some more.

"I think I believe her," said Micheletto. "I think she's innocent. I think she really believes he loved her, poor girl."

"Perhaps he _did_ love her," said Cesare.

Micheletto turned sharply. "No, your Grace," he said. "With respect, you know nothing about this. He loved me. God knows why, but he did. I've never been surer of anything."

"Perhaps he loved both of you," said Cesare.

Micheletto shook his head. "Impossible," he said. "Do you remember him? You met him once, you know. Downstairs. He and ... that thing." He gestured towards the door. "It's impossible. Besides, a man who loves another man can never love a woman."

"Are you sure?" said Cesare. "Plenty of boys and young men have passionate affairs with each other and then go on to love their mistresses and wives."

"That's different," said Micheletto. "Boys and women are the same thing, and I'm not interested in either. Men are different."

"But it's possible to love both," said Cesare.

"No–" began Micheletto.

"No, _really it is_ ," said Cesare.

Micheletto looked at him, beginning to understand.


	10. Chapter 10

The next afternoon, Cesare got out of bed, Isabella clucking round him like a mother hen and offering the kinds of food sick people are supposed to eat, like scrambled eggs and fruit puree. Micheletto, clearly pleased that someone else was the object of her attentions for once, sat back and watched.

When she went out to visit a neighbour, the two of them sat at the kitchen table to discuss where they were with their investigation.

"So it probably isn't Caterina Sforza," said Micheletto. "It would have been too unsubtle for her to imprison Mama and kill Augustino."

"But it _might_ be her," said Cesare. "Nothing about her behaviour makes sense. Now we're here in Forli, why hasn't she tried harder to do something? I'm always on guard in case she tries something, but there hasn't been a thing."

"That we've noticed," interjected Micheletto.

"That we've noticed," repeated Cesare. "And then there's Violetta."

"Last night we both said it wasn't her," pointed out Micheletto.

"But that was just a feeling," said Cesare. "Feelings are sometimes wrong."

"Marco and Pietro?" suggested Micheletto.

Cesare's finger traced the scabs on his face. "They're certainly violent enough," he said.

"Perhaps _too_ violent," said Micheletto. "Can you really picture them hanging Augustino and making it look like suicide?" His head dropped, as it sometimes did when someone mentioned how Augustino had died. Suddenly Cesare remembered all he knew about hanging and imagined how he'd feel if someone he loved had died that way. He reached out and held Micheletto's shoulder for a moment. He had half expected it to feel awkward, but Micheletto looked up with apparent gratitude. Cesare walked round the table and sat next to him on the same bench.

"Perhaps it _was_ suicide,” Micheletto said. Their eyes met. “If so,” he went on softly, “then _I_ killed him.” He looked up sharply. “We argued, the last time we met. It was … bad.”

“I don’t think it was suicide,” said Cesare. “I think Violetta would have noticed something, she’d have been more worried. I think someone in this town knows something. Maybe several someones."

            "What use is that?" Micheletto turned away. "It's not as though they're going to queue up to admit it."

            The door flew open and Isabella swept in. "Good afternoon, boys," she said. "Dottore, you look better every time I see you. Micheletto, my sweet. You _will_ take communion with me this Christmas, won't you? You'll need to go to confession tomorrow evening."

            Micheletto and Cesare looked at one another as Isabella bustled upstairs, duster in hand. "I commend your timing," said Micheletto.

            "Well, it's worth a try," said Cesare. "One of us can take Father Angelo out and get him drunk - or keep him away by force if necessary - and the other can take his place in the confessional."

            Micheletto gave Cesare a look as though to say: "nice try, Father."

            Cesare sighed. "All right," he said. "Ask your Mama when confessions start. You'll need to start drinking several hours before."


	11. Chapter 11

            Cesare deepened and roughened his voice so it wouldn't be recognised. The first half hour was dull. It seemed that the sins of Forli were (as a rule) extremely mundane: covetousness, envy, anger, pride and the occasional extra-marital affair. The one exception was two farmers who, presumably unknown to each other, were both engaged in amorous adventures with the same goat, Francesca.

Cesare handed out lenient penances and made a note to take a look at Francesca should the opportunity present itself. She must be a particularly beautiful goat. Perhaps he should rescue her and give her to Lucrezia.

            After about half an hour, one of Violetta's two cousins presented himself: Marco, Cesare eventually worked out. They were not easy to tell apart, even when Cesare had faces as well as voices to go by.

He did not admit to anything that concerned Augustino, but he sounded genuinely penitential about beating Cesare, who wished he'd predicted that this would come up in confession and worked out an appropriate penance in advance. How far could he push it, he wondered? "You are lucky this man didn't die," he said, in a very serious, deep voice. "You need to kneel at his feet and beg forgiveness."

            "But–" started Marco.

            Cesare interrupted him. "That's not all. You must fast on bread and water every Friday for a year, and flagellate yourself once a week."

            "But Father–"

            "Until you _bleed_. Meditate on the suffering you have caused, and on the flames of purgatory from which your penance will save you."

            "Yes, Father." He sounded miserable but obedient. "Where's Father Angelo, Father?"

            "And twenty Hail Marys for answering back."

 

Pietro was next. He admitted nothing with a direct bearing on Augustino's death, but he did confess to sodomy. Cesare's ears pricked up, and he detected a smile in the man's voice, and he sounded unusually unworried for someone who'd just confessed to such a grave sin.

            "With a man, woman or child?" asked Cesare sternly. "Or an animal?" he added as an afterthought, meditating on the difference between rural and urban confession.

            "A man," said Pietro. The jocular tone had suddenly gone. His voice was shaking. "It's … I ... I won't go to hell, will I?"

            "And does this man still live in Forli?" asked Cesare, ignoring the question.

            "Yes, Father," said Pietro. Not Augustino then. Interesting: there must be at least one other person at it.

            "Well, what else?" asked Cesare.

Pietro sounded even more abjectly sorry for beating up Cesare than his brother, but Cesare gave him the same penance nonetheless.

 

            Cesare was just about to leave, when he heard the church door swing open again. Sighing, he sat down.

            "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." Isabella's voice. Cesare would have to be particularly careful about disguising his own.

            "And when did you last attend confession?"

            "Many years ago," she said quietly. Cesare was surprised: he had her down as the type who bothered her parish priest several times a week, at great length.

            "I have committed murder," said Isabella.

            No. Cesare's heart sank. It couldn't be true. Isabella? Micheletto's Mama? And yet he could almost see it: the protective mother defending her child from a man she saw as a sexual predator ...

            "That is grave indeed," said Cesare, struggling to keep his voice steady. "What could lead you to do something so terrible?"

            There was a long silence. Then: "There were five. Four of them I killed for …" she was crying. "… for money. For my boy's education." The words came tumbling out all at once. "He was never much like other boys, he wouldn't have been happy here, and my mother had taught me a bit about poisons, and I couldn't think of another way. I tried. I even tried selling my body, but couldn't earn enough."

            For Micheletto. Cesare felt as though his heart was breaking. "Why haven't you confessed this before?"

            "Because I wasn't sorry until now. I thought it was worth it, even hell was worth it for my boy. But now I see I was wrong. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it Father? And when I made myself a bad tree, I made him a bad apple. He's mixed up in … I don't even know what, but bad things. I can see it in his face, and in his companions, in how he moves and what he says and how he flinches from my embrace. And there have been rumours about him, Father. Sometimes I fear that he too has become a murderer."

            "You said you committed five murders," said Cesare gently, "but only four were for money. What about the fifth?"

            "God forgive me," said Isabella, "but that I don't repent of. There was … a very bad man. And he wanted to hurt my son. I stopped him. And I'd do it again."

            Augustino. No. Desperately, Cesare sought for another meaning to Isabella's words. "You'll have to tell me what you mean by a 'very bad man', my child," he said.

            "No I don't." Cesare heard Isabella stand up so violently that the stool fell over. "And I don't want your forgiveness, not for that. You can go to hell, the lot of you."

            She ran out.


	12. Chapter 12

            Cesare walked into the body of the church and looked up at the high altar, as though God might tell him what to do. The silence felt absolute.

            Micheletto would never admit to it in words, but he loved his mother deeply. And he had loved Augustino. What would it do to him to understand that she had killed him? Could Cesare keep it secret? Perhaps, but how painful to keep something back from the one he told everything. Besides, what reason could he give for stopping their investigations? Micheletto would continue until they had a murderer, even if Cesare didn't.

            He slowly walked down the nave and out the church door towards the drinking house where Micheletto had brought Father Angelo, and where they had agreed to meet. He felt sick. How could he look Micheletto in the eye?

He stopped for a moment. Micheletto would continue until they had _a murderer_. It didn't have to be the real murderer. What if Cesare killed one of Violetta's cousins and said he'd confessed? Could he do that? It's not as though they were innocent, just innocent of that particular crime. Could he do that though? And could he live with the secret all his life?

           

Micheletto met him before he got to the drinking house and before he was ready.

            "Your Grace?" Micheletto seemed agitated, didn't seem to notice Cesare's own misery.

            "Micheletto," said Cesare. "How was it? Did Father Angelo make a good drinking companion."

Micheletto didn't answer, but instead said: "this way, your Grace," and started to lead him down some narrow side streets. They stopped at the door to a house in one of the poorest parts of the town. "He made an _interesting_ drinking companion," said Micheletto, turning the door handle. "He tried to seduce me."

            "What?" Cesare gave a short laugh, trying to sound normal.

            "Then he tried to kill me." Micheletto opened the door into a small dank room with nothing in it except an mattress, on which lay the body of Father Angelo. "He said he had to, because he was going to Florence and couldn't afford for there to be rumours."

Micheletto picked the body up by its arms and started dragging it towards the door. "And then he boasted that he killed Augustino, the last man he fucked. And then I killed him. And now I beg your Grace's assistance in disposing of the body. We’ll tell everyone he left for Florence."

            As the hauled it out and into the river nearby, Cesare's mind was a whirl. Had he misunderstood? Had there been another murder, or was Isabella's confession simply senile fantasy? In any case, Cesare felt light-headed with relief.


	13. Chapter 13

            "Mama!" Micheletto ran to his mother, who was weeping at the kitchen table, her head in her hands.

            "My Micheletto!"

            "What is it, Mama?" Micheletto sad down opposite her and gently moved his mother's hands away. Her face was red, and had scratchmarks on it, as though she'd torn at her own cheeks. "Don't cry, Mama."

            "Do you love your Mama?" she asked.

            "Of course I do."

            "I … need to tell you something, Micheletto. I can't keep it in any more."

            They were both ignoring Cesare. It occurred to him that he ought to creep away, but he was too curious.

            "You can tell me anything, Mama. Come on. It can't be that terrible."

            "Micheletto." She fiercely wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "Your father didn't die in an accident."

            Micheletto looked down, and paused for a long time before speaking. "I'm sorry, Mama," he said. "I didn't want you to-"

            But Isabella cut him off. "I killed him. You probably don't want to hear excuses, but all I can say is I had my reasons. I don't expect you to forgive me and-"

            Micheletto was staring at her. "No you didn't," he said.

            "I'm sorry, Micheletto. I know it's hard to believe but–"

            "No you didn't. I did."

            It was Isabella's turn to stare.

            "I'm sorry Mama," said Micheletto. "But he was a dangerous man. I heard you arguing the night before, about me, and I knew both of us were in danger. So at dinner time, when he sat down in the fields to eat–"

            "Sausage and bean casserole," said Isabella.

            "Perhaps," said Micheletto. "I came up behind him and slit his throat."

            "I put arsenic in it."

            "I made the oxen trample his head to hide what I'd done. I'm sorry I- What?"

            "I knew we were both in danger. I poisoned his food that morning."

            Mother and son stared at each other, but there was no time for them to take in what each had just said, because there was an urgent hammering at the door. Cesare opened it to Pietro and Marco. "What do you want?" he asked.

            "Your help, Dottore," said Pietro.

            Cesare's mouth opened.

            "And your forgiveness," said Marco. Awkwardly he knelt down, pulling Pietro down too. "We beg your forgiveness," he said.

            "Yes," said Pietro. "But Violetta needs your help."

            "Why?" said Cesare. "What's wrong with her?"

            "She's having a baby."

            Cesare spluttered. "I'm not that sort of doctor," he said. He hadn’t even noticed Violetta was pregnant.

            Isabella pushed forward. "I've delivered a few babies in my time," she said. "Perhaps I could assist you, _Dottore_?"

            "You should come too, Micheletto," said Cesare. "This is an important part of your training." He was damned if he was going to suffer this alone.

            "Augustino's baby," said Micheletto softly.

            All five of them hurried to the bakery. An old man – presumably Violetta's father – was pacing up and down outside a closed door. The cousins ushered in Cesare, Micheletto and Isabella, and waited outside.

 

            Violetta was lying on the bed wearing a white shift and moaning. Cesare looked and tried to stay calm. How hard could this be? Animals managed to give birth without help, so why shouldn't people? "Very good," he said, nodding.

            "Is it?" Violetta looked up at him anxiously. "Am I doing it right?"

            "You're doing just fine my dear," said Isabella, hurrying first to wipe her head with a dampened handkerchief and then pulling up her shift. "You're nearly there. How often do the pains come?"

            Violetta screamed in response. "Push!" said Isabella.

            Micheletto turned away. He looked even paler than usual. Cesare put his arm round him. "Squeamish?" he whispered in his ear.

            The “push” thing happened several more times, then Violetta made a big grunting sound, and Isabella squealed in delight. "You see!" she said. "What did I tell you? Childbearing hips."

            There was a little head poking out of Violetta's vagina. Cesare knew where babies came from, of course, but all the same it didn't seem natural.

            "And again," said Isabella.

            After a few more minutes, the body slid out, purple and slippery. Isabella held it up as it started to wail. "A boy!" she said. "A little on the small side, but strong lungs, Violetta! Oh, he's beautiful."

            Cesare didn't think he looked very beautiful, at least compared to Lucrezia's Giovanni, but he made appropriate noises about the child, and inspected Violetta's vagina when asked to do so. It wasn't the most appetising vagina he had ever seen, but she didn't seem to be about to bleed to death, so he said it was fine.

            When he looked up again, he was surprised to see Micheletto holding the baby, now wrapped in white cloth.

            "Look, your Grace," he said. "Augustino's baby." He placed the boy gently on Violetta’s chest.


	14. Chapter 14

Cesare was surprised when he and Micheletto were summoned to Violetta’s presence again the next day.

“I wish you’d pretended to be a lawyer,” he said, as they walked to the bakery. “Or a priest. Yes, that would have been better. That would have got your mother off your back about marriage too.”

“Mama said I was to be a Dottore, your Grace, and nothing else would do,” said Micheletto. “She told me last night it was to make up for how she funded my education.” He looked at Cesare.

“It makes sense,” said Cesare. “If you could save more than four lives, then taking four lives would have been worth it.”

Micheletto stopped. “You _knew_?” he said. “How could you have known?”

“Oh,” said Cesare. “She went to confession. Sorry.”

Micheletto stared at him. “You knew my mother was a hired killer, and you didn’t tell me?”

Cesare didn’t know how to reply.

“Wait,” said Micheletto. “Did she confess to killing my father too? Were you keeping _that_ from me?”

“No,” said Cesare. “No, I would never–“

“With respect, your Grace, why would she confess to four killings and not the fifth?” Anger was creeping into his voice. Anger and – worse – contempt.

“I didn’t know it was your father,” said Cesare, “I swear I didn’t.”

“Well who did you think it was then?”

“Augustino,” he said. “And there wasn’t time to tell you about it before you showed me it wasn’t her.”

“Would you have told me?” asked Micheletto.

Cesare found he couldn’t lie. “I don’t know,” he said.

Micheletto abruptly turned and walked on, faster than before.

 

But it wasn’t on Dottore business that Violetta had summoned them. She was sitting up in bed, the baby on her lap, tightly swaddled in white bands, wearing a silk bed jacket, looking almost regal.

"In Forli we have this little joke," she said. "That the world is so hard a man must have two fathers to look after him, and that's why we have godfathers.”

"I've heard funnier jokes," said Cesare.

"A fatherless child needs powerful godfathers."

"I can see that," said Cesare. "Yes."

"So I want you – both of you – to stand godfather to my boy."

Cesare laughed nervously. "I might have reached a little eminence, in my own particular field, but I'm hardly powerful."

"And what is your 'field', your Grace?"

"Well, not obstetrics–"

"No," said Violetta. "No, you have bigger things to bring to birth than mere babies, haven't you, Cesare Borgia? Your 'field' is Rome, Italy, Europe, the world."

Cesare hung his head in mock contrition.

“Please do it, your Grace,” said Micheletto. Cesare looked at him in surprise. All of the old hostility towards Violetta seemed to be gone, as had the awkwardness of their last conversation.

Cesare looked between them. “If that’s really what you want,” he said.

“And you too Micheletto?” asked Violetta.

Micheletto didn’t return her smile. “You can do better than me,” he said.

“Augustino didn’t think he could do better than you.”

Micheletto was silent for a few moments. “As you wish then,” he said.

           

That night in bed, Micheletto lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“What is it?” asked Cesare.

“Nothing,” said Micheletto, and rolled over so he had his back to Cesare.

Cesare moved closer and folded his arm around Micheletto, as he had a fortnight ago in the forest. “Violetta was right,” he said. “The world is a hard place. Everyone needs someone to look after them.”

“My mother killed to look after me,” said Micheletto. “And you would have lied to me to look after me. I don’t want looking after.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cesare, but Micheletto pulled away from him. “Please, Micheletto–”

“I don’t want looking after,” repeated Micheletto.

“Then what do you want?”

“Sleep,” said Micheletto.

“Well, I want you,” said Cesare. “And I think you want me too. If I’m wrong, just tell me and I’ll never mention it again, but I don’t think I am.“

Micheletto sighed and turned so he was facing Cesare. “I’ll serve you in any way you wish, your Grace,” he said.

“I want to make you happy, Micheletto.”

“A lost cause, your Grace.”

“Well, I want to give you pleasure then.”

Micheletto moved forward and kissed Cesare gently on his still-bruised lips, and then harder on his neck. Cesare pulled away. "Wait," he said. "Is this 'I'll serve you in any way you wish', or is this ... is this ..."

"This is what I've wanted since I met you," said Micheletto. "Never doubt that, your Grace, but I'm afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Of dragging you down into the shadows. Of making you a lost cause with me."

Cesare's answer was to pull Micheletto closer again and run his hands down his back until he shivered with pleasure.


	15. Chapter 15

Christmas day was bright and unseasonably warm. Little Augustino was to be baptised at high mass, so Cesare and Augustino had to sit at the front of the church, next to Violetta’s father, Marco and Pietro, uncomfortable in their Sunday best. Violetta herself remained at home: she would not be ‘churched’ for another few weeks.

Once the rest of the congregation were seated, Caterina and Benito Sforza arrived, walking up the nave almost in procession, while the admiring townsfolk looked on. Their place was also at the front, but on the other side from the baptismal party.

Cesare and Micheletto exchanged a glance. This wasn’t entirely unexpected. They were both well armed under their clothes, and Cesare had even alerted Marco and Pietro to the possibility of trouble. Sometimes one couldn’t be too picky about one’s allies.

The new priest was young and enthusiastic: another Dominican, which meant a long sermon. He appeared to believe that Father Angelo was safely in Florence. Young Augustino bawled his lungs out every moment he was in his arms, then settled down once handed back to Micheletto.

After the service, Cesare saw Caterina making a beeline for him, trailed by Benito, and felt Micheletto swiftly move to his side.

"A joyous Christmas to you, Dottore," said Caterina, smiling at Cesare.

Cesare bowed his head. "And to you too, Madam," he said.

"You may perhaps wonder why my eagerness to see you has declined,” she said.

“I had wondered,” said Cesare. “Yes.”

“My son told me that you saved his life,” she said. Then she laughed. “It must have been through your healing arts, Dottore. Anyway, he asked me to show my gratitude to you. I trust that I have done so adequately?"

"You are always most gracious, Madam."

"I have also heard rumours," she continued, "that you are responsible for eradicating the disease that scarred him. Is that so?"

Cesare paused. "I have nothing to say on that matter."

"Well, in any case I am grateful." She offered her hand, which Cesare kissed. "And I am sorry for any unpleasantness I may have caused you of late. Please do tell Isabella Corella and those two young men that if they wish to reenter my service, there will always be a place for them."

"You are too kind."

 

While they continued speaking, Benito approached Micheletto. "A joyous Christmas to you, Micheletto Corella," he said, taking of his right glove and spreading his fingers. He had lost another finger, the little one, but the rest of his hand had healed. “You see I got a second opinion,” he said. “You were wrong when you said I’d lose a hand or an arm. I will tell your Dottore that you still have some way to go in your training."

“But I was not wrong about my prescription,” said Micheletto not taking his eye of Cesare and Caterina. “Be careful, child, or I might just dispense it.”

Benito lifted his head disdainfully. “You don’t need to keep watching him,” he said. “Although my hand can still hold a sword as well as yours, this time I have chosen mercy.”

  "Tell me," said Micheletto,. "Does your ‘mercy’ extend to the Dottore's followers as well as to the Dottore himself?"

"Your comrade once said he fights with men, not boys," said Benito.

"I remember. I said it was a pity."

"I will not demean myself by seeking vengeance against a churl."

Caterina turned back to Benito. “It’s time to leave,” she said. Micheletto and Cesare followed them out of the church and watched them climb into their carriage. "A brave boy," said Micheletto. "I'm almost afraid I like him."

Cesare laughed. "If it helps," he said, "I'm fairly certain he's been practising that 'churl' line all week." He put his arm round Micheletto's shoulders. "Come on," he said. "Let's go and feast our godson."      


End file.
